Dennis Creevey's First Night
by Lyra Silvertongue2
Summary: It's his first time. Colin's told him it won't be any trouble, but Dennis is nervous anyway. As well he should be. It is the Yule Ball, after all, and he is behind a camera. Anything could happen...written for a challenge.
1. Chapter One

A/N: I doubt there'll be more than one of these notes in this fic. Anyway, this has been written for a challenge on Fawkes's Ashes, which is a fabulous forum that everyone should visit. The challenge was to write a Yule Ball fic set in the trio's seventh year at Hogwarts. Don't click away! Okay, heh.   
Much love to my betas, Plaidlylush and Keira, who are both fabulous and make awesome suggestions for improvements. Thanks, guys!   
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing! 

**Dennis Creevey's First Night**

Dennis Creevey was waiting for his brother in an alcove in the Entrance Hall. Tonight was the night. His big debut. The night which would either make his career, or send it down the tubes. 

Well, not really. 

But it _was_ his first time, so, despite the brave face he was putting on for the gussied-up people slowly drifting into the Great Hall, he was actually a bit nervous. 

He just hoped no one could see how tightly he was gripping his camera. Looking down, Dennis saw that his knuckles were turning white. With a great effort, he pried his fingers away from the plastic, and raised his head to a shout of, 

"All right! Dennis!" Colin was jogging across the Entrance Hall, having just darted upstairs to pick up a bag of spare film. Dennis marveled, once again, at how much _bigger_ and more _intimidating_ the sixth-year was, compared to himself. Try as he might (and oh how he had tried), Dennis had not been able to induce his own growth spurt, no matter how many glasses of milk he drank. He remained the shrimpiest fourth-year Gryffindor there was. 

"Hi, Colin," said Dennis, forcing a smile. He let his camera dangle awkwardly by his side from his clammy hand. 

"You all right?" 

"Yeah, fine, fine," Dennis assured him, not convincing his brother or any of the paintings lining the alcove. Fortunately for him, the portraits kept their opinions on this to themselves. 

Colin, however, didn't. "Look, you've got nothing to worry about. People _love_ you." 

"Yeah, right." 

"They _do._ Besides, you want my big brotherly advice?" 

Dennis shrugged, glancing up at what seemed like hordes of people entering the Great Hall, though in actuality it was only a few stragglers hurrying in late. "Sure." 

Grinning, Colin told him, "Just give 'em your best smile, hold up your camera, and say," 

"'Can I take your picture? Only two sickles, and the memory will last forever,'" Dennis said with his brother. "Yeah, I know," he smiled more strongly this time. _Somehow I think it's a little more complicated than that..._ he thought to himself. "All right, let's go." The two brothers ducked out of the alcove, and, within seconds, were entering the Great Hall.   
  


The Yule ball was, quite simply, amazing. Dennis hadn't been able to attend the first time around, having been only a first-year, so he hadn't known quite what to expect, but... 

"Wow," he whispered to himself in awe. 

Ice sculptures, hanging white garlands, the whole kit 'n' caboodle. The entire Great Hall was flooded with an intense ivory light, which made nearly everyone within almost glow with beauty. The house tables were gone, and instead the walls were lined with small, round tables, leaving the main floor open for dancing. Near where the teachers' table usually rested was a rather more upscale band than, say, the Weird Sisters, on a raised platform in the corner of the hall. 

Each small table had two chairs and its own centerpiece, and on closer examination, Dennis realized that each centerpiece was a vase of Tinkling Bellflowers, which were very difficult to grow in the British climate, and which were a beautiful, soft pink. They also, he recalled, jingled pleasantly when shifted. Operating on automatic, and not drawing his eyes from the spectacle that was the ball, Dennis switched off the flash on his camera. 

First time around, Dennis had been itching to attend the Yule ball, but he'd been unable to get a date (and unable to get specific permission from the Headmaster, like Colin had tried to obtain). That was why he was ecstatic when he'd heard they'd decided to bring it back _this_ year. Apparently, in the general euphoria surrounding the end of the war, the Prefects of Hogwarts had been so adamant in their pleas for another Yule ball (sans Triwizard Tournament) that the faculty had finally relented. This..._gulp_...was the result. The rules were the same as before: no one under fourth year was permitted, unless they had a date who was allowed to get in. Thus, all the older kids had gotten dressed up while the first, second, and third-years sulked around in their common rooms and complained about having to go home over Christmas break. 

Dennis himself was dressed up, in the wizard equivalent of one of those Muggle tuxes, with their smart bow-ties. Personally, he wasn't concerned with dress robes, but Colin had insisted that image was everything when it came to photography (and Dennis had to point out that, yes, that _was_ how photography _worked_), and picked out some for his younger brother. 

Now Dennis tugged at the collar of those very same dress robes and scanned the Great Hall for his first victi--er, targe--er, customers. Not his classmates, ugh, he was too embarrassed to go to them yet, but who...? Aha! A familiar face: Harry Potter. Yes, he'd start there--but, no... 

Dammit! Why did Colin always have the same ideas, only faster? Grr...Dennis had asked him that question once, and Colin'd told him that it came with the Big Brother Territory. 

Non-threatening couple, non-threatening couple...Dennis rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes as he searched. Finally, he just steeled himself and headed to the nearest table, where a sixth-year boy and a seventh-year girl were snogging each other within an inch of their lives. 

"Hi!" said Dennis brightly to the couple. There was no response, so he plowed on. "Can I take your picture? Only two sickles! and it'll last forever!" The two students didn't even pause for breath. "Hello?" asked Dennis. Then he wavered, wondering what to do. _Get that picture,_ Colin's voice came back to him, _no matter what._ Bracing himself, Dennis reached out and tapped the boy on the shoulder. "Excuse me?" 

There was a smacking sound as the two disengaged. The boy looked very annoyed. "What?" he asked of Dennis. 

"Um," said Dennis. "Take your picture? Two sickles? Last you forever?" 

"Oh, Billy, let's," said the girl, who looked very familiar, with sandy blonde hair and a sunny-looking face. 

"Must we?" said Billy. 

"Please?" the girl begged him, catching his arm and gazing in a simpering sort of way into his eyes. 

"All right, fine, Susan," grumped Billy, and then Dennis recognized the girl. Susan Bones, wasn't she? Billy shelled out two sickles, which Dennis pocketed, readying his camera. 

_Snap!___

The camera spit out the picture, which Dennis shook to let the image develop faster. He had a Polaroid camera, with a very complicated charm on it, so it would take magical (that is, moving) pictures. Colin was still working with his older, to-be-developed-elsewhere camera. Dennis smiled. Silly fool. He still had to take people's _names _down. This wasn't so bad. All he had to do was-- 

"I think it's ready," said Susan Bones, kindly. Dennis startled out of his daze, and looked down at the photo. Amazed at just how visible Billy's bruised and now-lipsticked lips were in the picture, Dennis handed it over. 

"Thanks," he said brightly, and left before they could complain. Colin had always told him, _The customer is always right, but if you aren't listening, you don't have to agree with them._   
  


To be continued... 


	2. Chapter Two

Next stop for Dennis was a table adjacent to Harry Potter's. Most of Dennis's friends were older than he was. Since his own year teased him for his size, he tended to associate himself with people mature enough not to care what he looked like, or, better yet, how tall he was. "Hi, Neville," he greeted his seventh-year friend, grinning. 

  
Neville Longbottom looked rather ridiculous in his frilled dress robes, but his date, Luna Lovegood, didn't seem to mind. Of course, she was living up to her title _Looney_ Lovegood at the moment, staring intently at a tiny portion of the tablecloth. "Hullo, Dennis," greeted Neville, cracking a smile. "On the rounds tonight?" 

  
"Yeah," grinned Dennis. "Take your picture? Two sickles." 

  
"Sure!" said Neville, digging into his pocket. "Oh, _no._ I don't have any money with me." 

  
"That's okay," said Dennis. "You can just pay me back later." Hefting his camera, he told them, "Smile and say 'Happy Christmas'!" 

  
Luna was still staring at the tablecloth with unwavering interest, however, so Dennis dropped his camera to allow for Neville's request that she, "Come on, it could be a very nice picture, Luna, if you'd just--" She just squinted her eyes harder. 

  
"What's she doing?" Dennis finally inquired, utterly baffled. 

  
"Looking for Micro Mites," answered the woman herself, beginning to poke at the lace. 

  
"Micro Mites?" 

  
"They're smaller than Dust Mites," explained Neville, still hoping to prise his date from the tablecloth, but unsure as to how, "but more dangerous. See, they have these--" 

  
"--laserbeams on their heads," said Luna distractedly, going a bit cross-eyed. "They kill Dust Mites sometimes." 

  
"But...I thought you couldn't see Dust Mites...?" asked Dennis. 

  
"Oh, you can," said Luna, finally rising, blinking to get her eyes to straighten. "If you really try hard enough. _I've_ seen them."   
  


"Smile," said Dennis, raising his camera again. The couple complied, Neville placing an arm around Luna at the last second. Dennis brought the shot into focus. "Why don't you just use an Engorgement charm?" he suggested. "You'll be able to see them then."   


_Snap!_   
  


The picture slowly developing on the table showed a smiling Neville and a Luna drawing out her wand, smiling evilly at the tablecloth.   
  


"'Bye, Neville!"   
  


"See you, Dennis!" 

The trick was, Dennis found out, to not catch people's attention at all. To be, rather than a distraction, something playing in the background of partygoers' minds, something to which only their subconscious responded. 

  
It was in this way that Dennis heard fascinating snippets of conversations of the couples at the Yule ball. 

  
Some tables held couples of the arguing kind, or the jealous. That was where he'd hear dialogues that went something like this: 

  
"Why don't you dance with _her,_ then, if she's so beautiful?!" 

  
"I never said she was beautiful!" 

  
"You were _thinking_ it!" 

  
Other couples were sickeningly sweet, but in a very fake way. The kind of couples that Dennis frankly doubted would last more than a week following the ball. They spoke to each other in this way: 

  
"You look so sweet tonight." 

  
"No, _you_ look so sweet tonight." 

  
"No, _you._" 

  
Or sometimes it was more like this: 

  
"Would you like some more punch? I'll go get you some." 

  
"Oh, you're too nice. I would love some more punch." 

  
"Okay." Peck on the cheek. "I'll get you some more punch." 

  
"Oh, wait. Hold on. This boy's going to take our picture." 

  
About a half an hour in, when Dennis was really starting to get into the swing of his job, he found Colin's abandoned camera and clipboard on one of the tables. Colin himself was out on the floor, dancing with Parvati Patil, who was, apparently, more important than a lifelong fascination with film. Dennis seethed as he went to the next table, but then he caught this screeching discussion, 

  
"I _told_ you I _wasn't wearing that dress!_" 

  
"I paid a good three galleons for that dress! I told all my friends you were going to wear it!" 

  
"Is that who I'm dressing for?! Your _friends?!_" 

  
and had to laugh. 

Around ten o'clock Dennis had drifted back to Harry Potter's table. Unfortunately, all four chairs (two had been dragged over) were empty, so he moved on to the next table, skirting around Neville and Luna, who were, in an odd sort of way, trying to dance. 

  
_And the winners for most surprising couple at the Yule ball are,_ thought Dennis in an announcer voice, _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger!_ Yes, there they were, he looking dashing in very deep green robes, and she looking very pretty in some classically-cut burgundy ones. Apparently, they had unknowingly dressed according to their House colors, and yet, here they were, promoting House unity. 

  
"--talking about some ridiculous Mini Mites or something," Dennis heard Hermione say as he approached. "I mean, _honestly._" 

  
"Well, that is why they call her _Looney Lovegood,_" said Malfoy, smirking. 

  
Hermione smiled and poked him in the side. "Don't call her that. What if it gets around the Head Boy's insulting one of the smartest students in the school?" 

  
"Take your picture?" interjected Dennis. "Two sickles, and it'll last forever." 

  
"Sure," Hermione forked over the money, beating Malfoy to it. He grumbled at her, 

  
"Why do you spend your money? You know I've got plenty of it." 

  
"It's the principle that counts," she replied smoothly, slipping an arm around his waist and smiling at the camera. 

  
"Smile and say 'Happy Christmas,'" said Dennis. 

  
_Snap!_

  
As the picture developed, the couple chatted. 

  
"Are we going to dance, or do I have to sit here all night entertaining fourth years with my sexy looks?" 

  
"We'll dance. And no one's looking at you, Draco, really, they're all looking at me. I mean, how often do they see my hair looking this nice?" 

  
"Not often enough," he groused jokingly. 

  
"Oh, _you,_" she said, annoyed, and kissed him. 

  
The picture showed Hermione tucking a strand of hair behind Malfoy's ear, and the picture-Malfoy sticking out his tongue at her. 

  
"Thanks," said Dennis, just as he felt a hand in the middle of his back and heard Colin say, 

  
"Okay, Dennis?" 

  
Ready to tell off his brother for dereliction of duty, Dennis spun to find—

Lucy. 

  
That was stunning. 

  
No, wait, scratch that, _she_ was stunning, in a dark blue gown that hugged her curves in a way that shouldn't be considered appropriate in decent company. 

  
He'd asked her to come to this ball. Hell, he'd asked her to come to the _first_ one, before he'd found out that first-years weren't allowed to go, thus making a fool of himself in front of Lucy _and_ her best friend. 

  
Lucy was the prettiest Slytherin in his year. That made her completely unattainable to the shrimpiest Gryffindor in his year. 

  
You couldn't blame a guy for trying. 

  
When he'd asked her to be his date for the ball, she'd said, 'I'd rather just go stag.' That didn't seem to matter, now, however. 

  
Lucy's hair sparkled in the light. Her creamy skin stood out _just so_ next to the dark blue velvet. A silver necklace with a glowing pendant draped down her chest, into her... 

  
Dennis dropped his camera. 

  
"H-hi, Lucy," he squeaked. _Damn_ his untrustworthy voice. 

  
"Hello, Dennis." Unnerving, the way she was his exact height, and could therefore stare him directly in his eye. Of course, she did that with everyone, looked them right in the eye. In double Transfiguration one year, he'd seen her do it to McGonagall. Poor Professor hadn't been able to speak properly for a full ten seconds. "I was wondering," began Lucy, blinking slowly. 

  
Jeez, even the way she _blinked_ was pretty. Then Dennis registered what she'd said, and his heart leapt. "Yes...?" _I'll dance with you. I'll jump off the Astronomy Tower for you._

  
"Do you think I have a chance with Draco Malfoy?" 


	3. Chapter Three

"Do you think I have a chance with Draco Malfoy?" 

  
"What?" His heart sank all the way into his feet and slipped out the toes of his shoes. Glancing around, he saw that Malfoy and Hermione were just beginning a dance out near the middle of the floor. "Uh, no," he said. Dennis's voice broke, causing him to curse internally once again. _And don't get me wrong, I'm not just saving you all for myself._ "He and Hermione seem really close." Lucy bit her lip in the most beautiful way a person could do such a thing, and looked very disappointed. "Sorry." _Not sorry. Sorry for not being sorry. Wanna dance?_

  
"That's okay," said Lucy. "I'll just...dance with someone else..." With that, she moved away from him. It took Dennis a few seconds to recover, exhaling deeply, and then he bent and retrieved his camera and moved to the next table. 

  
A few tables later, when he couldn't get his mind off Lucy (even with a dour Professor Snape in his way, trying to take House points off Gryffindor for something completely trivial), Dennis decided to take a break, and headed for the buffet table. 

  
The buffet table had _everything._ Marveling at the sheer variety, Dennis paced the length of the row of food slowly. There was everything from a bizarre Indian dish labeled 'Chana Masala' to coconut soufflé to those little cocktail wienies that people claimed to like but really secretly hated. Dennis picked up a plate and began to fill it with a little of everything. As he approached the end of the table, however, he halted and set down his plate. 

  
It was the biggest bowl of punch he'd _ever_ seen. It could easily fit three of him inside of it, and a full-grown turkey, plus a couple of Neville Longbottoms around the edges. The tiny platform it was on creaked and moaned warningly under its weight. Dennis reached over, still staring at the bowl, and got himself a glass. Then he stretched to the top of the bowl, which was over his head, retrieved a dipper full of punch, and poured it carefully into his cup. 

  
That was when he noticed two shadowy forms behind the punch bowl. They were hazy, muted with red, and their foggy feet were shifting sneakily back and forth. Dennis set down his cup beside his plate and peered around the edge of the punch bowl. 

  
"What are you lookin' at?" inquired Ben Powell nastily. 

  
"Yeah," seconded Iris Newhaven. 

  
Uh-oh. These two could never be up to any good. Both were in Dennis's year, and were the most Slytherin of the Slytherin. They were always trying to do something awful to someone nice. Dennis knew, because they were always playing pranks on _him_ in particular. One time they'd put a jinx on him that had him speaking in falsetto all day, instead of speaking with his usual frequently-breaking voice. "Nothing," said Dennis. "Just wondering what you two could be scheming behind the punch bowl." 

  
"You're scheming for a cut lip, Creevey," said Ben Powell, curling a lip in disgust. "You'd better get out of here, or I'll pop you one." 

  
"Yeah," Iris Newhaven put in her vote. 

  
Looking over his shoulder, Dennis spotted someone to help his case. "What, you'll hit me right in front of Professor McGonagall? I'm sure she'll take that one well." 

  
"Just get out of here, will ya?!" 

  
"Yeah!" Iris said, clenching a fist. 

  
"All right, all right," said Dennis, holding up his hands in a pacifying way. "Jeez, just trying to ask you a question, no need to get hostile..." With that, he backed away and retrieved his plate. 

  
Deciding it would be a good idea to stay out of wand-range of the two Slytherins for awhile, Dennis headed out of the Great Hall. The music was thrumming through his feet, making him feel like his whole body was buzzing, and besides, he didn't have anywhere to sit anyway. Though he suspected Neville would let him sit at his table, if only for help in prying Luna away from the tablecloth. Looking down the Hall, Dennis could see she was still jabbing her wand at the cloth, with Neville almost desperately pleading with her. 

  
With his camera slung over his shoulder, Dennis headed out of the Great Hall, holding his plate up to his face and eating from it as he went. 

  
Couples had stopped drifting into the ball, it seemed. Dennis's footsteps echoed loudly in the huge, empty Entrance Hall. All that empty space and shining floor was spooky, he decided, especially with all those portraits staring at him like that. It was better that he head to the alcove the night had begun in than to stand out here in an empty room, eating his dinner. But as he approached the alcove, Dennis heard voices. 

  
"...didn't mean anything by it, I was just--" That was Harry Potter's voice. Much to his dismay, Dennis was able to recognize it at once, having been fully trained by his elder brother to know when a celebrity was walking by, or, as the case was, when a celebrity was having an argument with his girlfriend. 

  
"Look, if you think she's that beautiful, why don't you just dance with _her,_ then?!" Ginny Weasley. Had to be. Dennis had seen them dancing together, and sitting together, and, well...they _had_ been going out for _months._

  
"Because I don't _want_ to dance with her, I want to dance with _you!_" 

  
"Great way of showing it, isn't it." Dennis leaned against the wall nonchalantly about five feet from the entrance to the alcove. A portrait nearby tsked at him, but he held a finger to his lips in a silent request to keep his presence a secret. It wasn't that he wanted to spread rumors about the couple or anything. It just wouldn't do to disturb an argument. The portrait shrugged its shoulders and relented, and both of them turned to listen again. 

  
"Look, Ginny..." There was a pause. "This isn't about me staring at Hermione, is it?" It wasn't really a question. 

  
_Staring at Hermione,_ thought Dennis, _but why would he be—_

  
"No," came Ginny's voice, sounding a little watery. 

  
"I promise, Ginny," said Harry, sounding as if he had made this promise before. "I'm not gonna go running off with some Auror-in-training or anything once I leave. I'm in love with _you._ And I'll come visit you _all the time._" 

  
"You say that," said Ginny's still-watery voice, now quivering dangerously toward anger. "But you don't mean it." 

  
"Ginny, I--" 

  
"I'm going to the washroom," Ginny said, a sob escaping her. 

  
_Blend,_ Dennis advised himself quickly, just before an emotional-looking sixth-year came storming out of the alcove, wiping angry tears from her face, red hair flying behind her like a wave of fire. Luckily, she was too wrapped up in her own emotions to notice Dennis standing frozen by the wall, holding his plate up like a shield, with only his eyes following her progress. She turned left near the end of the Entrance Hall, presumably going to the girls' bathroom down the hallway there. 

  
There was a heavy sigh from the alcove, and Dennis roused himself just in time to begin to walk purposefully toward the stairs as Harry emerged. Hearing the doors to the Great Hall close behind him, Dennis turned once again and headed back into the ballroom. Breaktime over.   
  



	4. Chapter Four

After dumping his plate at the end of the buffet table to be cleaned up, Dennis headed for the next logical thing: Colin's abandoned clipboard. It was resting innocuously on the white lace tablecloth of an empty table—from what Dennis could see, his brother was still enjoying himself immensely, dancing with Parvati Patil, who also looked to be enjoying herself. Dennis scowled and picked up the clipboard, scanning through the names and table numbers. _Nope. Not here._ Grinning to himself, he clunked the list back onto the table and headed for the most interesting place to be at this particular moment. 

Ginny Weasley was still missing from Harry Potter's table, but there were two other people to fill in for her: her brother, Ron Weasley, and his date…whose name Dennis couldn't remember. Some kind of herb or something…three syllables…Rosemary? Yes, that was it, Rosemary Brown. She was looking very pretty, dressed in soft lilac dress robes and sipping at her punch, though she seemed a bit annoyed at her date. Ron was glowering at the table next to theirs, where Hermione and Malfoy had resumed their seats in Dennis's absence. While they were talking animatedly and laughing, Ron was sending them death-looks that, had looks been able to kill, would have felled a moose. 

The man himself, Harry Potter, was slumped morosely over the table, chin in hand, and staring through the many dancers to the entrance of the Great Hall. Much to his dismay, it appeared, the doors did not seem to be opening. 

As Dennis approached, he heard Rosemary Brown saying, "Oh, come on, Ron, let's have a dance? It is a _ball,_ you know, and you did _ask_ me to it." 

"Can you believe the nerve of those two?" demanded Ron of Harry angrily, not listening to poor Rosemary at all. "I can't believe Hermione came here with _Malfoy.Malfoy,_ of all people!" 

"I don't know if you've been aware of this, Ron," said Rosemary calmly, if a bit bitingly, "but they _have_ been going out since last year." 

"Yeah?! So?! That doesn't mean they would necessarily go to the ball together!" 

"Frankly, I think you were the _only_ person in the school who didn't expect them to go to the ball together." 

"Can I take your picture?" asked Dennis. "Only two sickles." 

"Hermione could have gone with someone else!" 

"Whatever you say, Cleopatra," said Rosemary, leaning back into her chair. 

"Do you think she's still angry at me?" asked Harry glumly of Ron, not really noticing that there were already two conversations going on, and there was no room for a third. "I was only watching Hermione because you were, anyway." 

"Take your picture?" said Dennis. 

"Yes, how much?" said Rosemary. 

"Why should she be angry at you, Harry?" asked Ron, half paying attention.   
  
"Two sickles," said Dennis. "Last you forever!" 

"Well, really it's 'cause we're leaving next year and she thinks I won't come and visit her."   
  
"That's stupid," Ron told him, and turned back toward Draco and Hermione's table. "Almost as stupid as Malfoy." 

"Ron, you promised Hermione you wouldn't insult him," said Rosemary, leaving Dennis hanging. "And, look, he's not doing anything wrong to her." It was true. A quick glance over Dennis's shoulder confirmed it. The couple at the next table was still joking, Hermione having just snorted into her napkin. "Meanwhile," said Rosemary, "Ginny's had her feelings upset, and you're not paying one bit of mind." 

For a moment, Dennis forgot about his camera and considered this. Rosemary had some astonishing insights. 

"Yeah," said Ron dismissively, "but she's with _Harry._" 

"She might not be anymore," Harry said gloomily. 

Ron finished, "Harry'd never hurt her." 

"You're pulling the big brother act on entirely the wrong person," said Dennis, making a connection in his brain, and suddenly all three people at the table were staring at him. He cleared his throat. "Uh, would you like a photo to remember this night forever? Only two sickles," he told them. 

"Not gonna want to remember it forever," grumbled Ron, with a glance at the next table. 

"Yes, please," smiled Rosemary, though Dennis thought the smile had more to do with his insight and less to do with the picture. Rosemary handed him two silver coins, which he clinked into his pocket. 

"Smile and say 'Happy Christmas,'" said Dennis, aiming his camera. 

"I'm going to go talk to her," said Harry, standing up and starting toward the door. 

"Happy Christmas," Ron and Rosemary chorused. 

_Snap!_

"You fancy a dance, Lavender?" asked Ron reluctantly of his date. 

_ Wait a second,_ thought Dennis. _Her name's **Lavender?**_

****"Sure, Ron," said Lavender, beaming. Standing up, Ron held out a hand to her. Lavender took it, and as he swept her out onto the dance floor a little more gracefully than expected, Dennis heard Ron ask, 

"Why do you go out with me again?" 

"Because you _can_ be a gentleman if you want to be." 

"Oh, yeah..." 

Dennis didn't bother to call after them about their photo, which he dropped onto the table. It rapidly developed, showing picture-Ron scowling at something off to the right, and picture-Lavender's slowly-growing bemused smile. Then Dennis headed for the buffet table again, having decided that after _these_ customers, another break was in order.   


It wasn't looking to be much of a break, however, when Dennis spotted the conniving duo previously _standing_ behind the punch bowl, now pouring something _into_ the punch bowl. Glancing around himself, Dennis noted that there were no teachers around. _Hmm. They must be on break, too._ Acting fast, he brought his camera up to his face and-- 

_Snap!_

_ --_took a picture of Ben Powell and Iris Newhaven, the former of whom was up on his tippy-toes, holding a tiny flask of something upside-down over the giant bowl of drink. Dennis could see a green liquid rapidly disappearing into the bowl. As soon as the camera spat the picture out, Dennis jammed it into his pocket and then, looking both ways again, walked rapidly over to the pair. 

"Want your picture taken?!" asked Dennis loudly. 


	5. Chapter Five

  
"Want your picture taken?!" asked Dennis loudly. 

Two things happened very fast. 

First, the flask disappeared into Ben Powell's pocket. 

Quite closely following this occurrence, Dennis had two wands pointed at his throat. 

Dennis gulped, and his adam's apple grazed the tip of Iris Newhaven's wand. "Only two sickles," he told them, voice breaking more than usual. 

"What did you see?" said Ben Powell suspiciously, as Dennis sneaked his hand towards his pocket to retrieve his wand. 

"Yeah," said Iris Newhaven slowly. 

_If I say "Nothing," they'll know I'm lying,_ thought Dennis, forgetting about his wand for the moment. _Colin's always told me what a horrible liar I am._ "What did you put in the punch?" he countered, sounding more daring than he felt. 

It was obvious that just then a Professor walked past, because both of the offenders, like lightning, stowed their wands behind their backs and smiled angelically, following something behind Dennis's back with their eyes. As soon as whoever-it-was was past, Ben Powell gathered Dennis's collar in his fist and dragged him, forcibly, to a partially-hidden position behind the punchbowl. 

"We didn't put _nothin' _in the punch, Creevey," snarled Ben Powell. 

"Yeah," Iris Newhaven spat, sticking out her jaw challengingly. 

"Oh," said Dennis casually, or, at least, as casual as he could sound with Ben Powell still holding his collar like that. "Never knew 'nothing' could be so green and liquidy." 

"Oi," growled Ben Powell, jabbing an elbow into his date. "I told you he saw something!" 

Iris Newhaven was glum. "Yeah." While they were distracted, Dennis began inching his hand towards his wand again. 

"I knew we should've snuck in beforehand!" 

"Yeah." 

_Almost..there..._ thought Dennis. 

"Reckon we oughta make sure he don't tell no one?" 

"Yeah," said Iris Newhaven, smiling evilly. 

Both criminals turned to look at him once again, and Dennis snapped his hand back to where it had been. "I swear I won't tell anyone if you tell me what you put into the punch." 

"What'll you swear by?" asked Powell suspiciously. 

"Uh...Godric Gryffindor's grave!" 

Ben turned to Iris, asking her a question silently. After careful consideration she told him, nodding, "Yeah." 

"Okay," said Powell warily. "But you'll be using your ears as a belt if you ever tell anyone." 

"What was it?" prompted Dennis. 

"An Inebriation Brew." 

_All this 'cause they spiked the punch?_ thought Dennis incredulously. _Are they telling the truth? _He looked at the two of them closely. _Yeah, they must be, they're too stupid to try and fool me like this._

"Remember, Creevey," called Ben Powell as he and Iris walked away, brandishing their wands threateningly. "We'll know if you told!" 

That left Dennis standing alone behind the punch bowl. A good place to look dodgy, as far as he was concerned, so he stepped out in front of the huge bowl quickly, only to spot Lucy three feet away. "Lucy!" 

"Oh, hello, Dennis," she said with a smile, reaching for a glass. "I--" 

"Don't drink the punch!" 

"Huh?" She raised a beautifully-arched eyebrow, to the point where it almost disappeared into her glistening, perfectly-coiffed hair. Obviously quite astonished by his panic, she set down her cup rapidly, then turned back to him. 

"Guh," replied Dennis articulately, reflecting at how much he liked the lighting provided by whoever provided the lighting for these fabulous balls. Dennis loved balls, really. Quite nice. "I mean, the punch has been spiked." 

"Oh, I know," she said, smiling again. Dennis gave her the most disbelieving look he could ever remember having given. 

"You trying to get yourself drunk?" Just then, Dennis spotted some peculiar movement at the other end of the hall. Was that...Neville? It was. Why would Neville be waving that frantically at _him,_ of all people? 

"No, I..." Lucy trailed off when she noticed she no longer had his attention. 

"Excuse me," said Dennis graciously, then dashed off to the other end of the hall, clutching his camera. 

Luna was still poking at the tablecloth with her wand, muttering "_Engorgio_" every now and then, when Dennis arrived, a bit out of breath. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked of Neville, realizing who he'd left standing by the punch bowl. _Damn. Just when she starts to talk to me..._

Neville took a breath to begin to speak, but, quite suddenly, there was a _Pop!_ from Luna's direction, and the tiny elegant table was abruptly creaking under the weight of a seventy-pound Micro Mite.   



	6. Chapter Six

_ Micro Mites,_ thought Dennis numbly,_ really ought to consider changing their names to Macro Mites.___

Then the screaming began. 

There was a mad rush for the door to the Entrance Hall, and anyone who had originally planned to stay behind was caught up in the crowd and dragged through. Even Neville grabbed Luna's hand and dragged her toward the exit, though she could be heard, on the way out, to laugh joyfully, "Ha-ha! Told you they existed!" 

Dennis did not notice any of this, however, because he was too absorbed in the fact that the color of the Micro Mite's head-originating laser beam was green. _Green,_ gulped Dennis, _like **Avada Kedavra, **_instantly drawing out the wand which had been of no use with Ben Powell and Iris Newhaven, but which he sincerely hoped would be of some use with the Micro Mite. He'd never ask for anything again, so long as he didn't wind up as a little puddle of Dennis Creevey-colored goo on the Great Hall floor. 

The table on which the Micro Mite was resting soon collapsed, following about fifteen tables which had already been decimated by that--oh why, oh why--_green_ laser. That was when Dennis learned that it moved very fast, much faster than you'd expect a giant bug to move. He backed away, circling, and holding out his wand in a shaking hand. 

Finally, after the twenty-fifth table met its end, Dennis stuttered, "_S--stupefy_," just as three frazzled teachers came charging through the opening door. 

A jet of red light hit the Micro Mite's back, rebounded, and brought down table number twenty-six. "Mr. Creevey!" called Professor McGonagall authoritatively, rapidly approaching. "Go and wait outside with the rest of the students." 

"But--" 

"Now, Mr. Creevey. Or I will take points off of my own house." 

"All right," said Dennis morosely, watching the two other teachers corner and stun the Micro Mite. "By the way, someone spiked the punch," said Dennis, handing a stunned McGonagall the picture of Ben Powell and Iris Newhaven by the punchbowl. Then he left. 

The Entrance Hall was full of murmurs as Dennis closed the heavy doors behind him. No one seemed to notice his arrival. _Just as well,_ he thought. _Not as if I'm a hero or anything._ Because he didn't feel like taking anymore pictures, he headed for the door to the outside. Glancing to his left as he opened the door, Dennis stopped for half a minute to observe the snog-fest happening in the corridor outside the girls' bathroom. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley had, apparently, not even stopped to find out what the excitement was all about--hell, they probably had no idea there was any excitement going on, period. Sagging disconsolately, Dennis stepped out into the chill night and pulled the door shut behind him. He began to wander along one of the dark paths around the castle. 

It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. He'd been working hard, all night, taking pictures of happy couples when he wasn't part of one himself. After all, who wanted to go to the ball with nerdy, mousy-haired, short, voice-breaking, puberty-deprived Dennis Creevey? He'd been ignored, and insulted, and threatened, and finally told he wasn't _allowed_ to be a hero, even though his Stunning Spell had been just as good as the teachers', really. If he'd just been given a little more _time...___

Oh, who was he kidding. There was no way he could've beaten that stupid Micro Mite. Besides, he was scared out of his mind of it anyway. _I don't deserve a date,_ Dennis told himself dejectedly, slumping onto a freezing bench near the edge of the path. _I don't even deserve this stupid camera._ Staring at the instrument of photography angrily, Dennis tore the camera off his neck and chucked it across the path, where it landed in a grouping of rustling bushes. 

"Dennis?" came a female voice from behind him. He spun, prepared to banish whoever-it-was, but then-- 

"Lucy," said Dennis, collapsing back onto the bench. He heard her walk up behind him, and watched her sit down on the bench beside him out of the corner of his eye. "What are you doing out here? Why don't you go dance with Draco Malfoy?" 

"I saw you come out," she said softly, bending over and trying to catch his eye. Dennis stared fixedly at the ground. "And I don't want to dance with Draco Malfoy." 

"Who _do_ you want to dance with then? Harry Potter? Yeah, I bet you'd go for him--he's a celebrity, he's powerful. Very Slytherin of you," he spat, not really meaning it. Lucy was the least typical Slytherin he knew, actually. 

"I want to dance with you." 

"What?" Dennis finally looked at her. Her beautiful dress was torn at the hem, as well as on the sleeve. "What happened to your dress?" 

"The crowd," she shrugged, smiling a bit. "Everyone was pushing and shoving to get out." 

Dennis did a quick mental double-take at what she'd said before. "Did you say...that you wanted to dance with _me?_" 

Lucy smiled wider. "Yeah." 

"B-b-but..._why?_" 

Still grinning, she answered, "I like you." 

"What?! Well, then, then, why were you dancing with all those other guys?" asked Dennis, still not believing what she was saying. "Why didn't you accept my invitation to the ball?" 

"I wanted to see if anyone else could beat you," she said, looking right into his eyes, "for sheer integrity." Dennis stared at her. Lucy took his hand. "Dennis. I've seen you around. I saw you tonight, facing that--bug-thing. I heard you behind the punchbowl. You're one of the bravest people I know." 

"But I didn't _beat_ the bug." 

"You didn't have to," said Lucy softly. "It was just that you tried." She paused, then asked, concerned, "Are you okay?" 

Dennis's jaw was still hanging open, and his breathing had grown deep and erratic. "Give me a minute to let this all sink in." This made Lucy smile. "So you--so you don't _really_ want to go out with Draco Malfoy?" 

"Nope," beamed Lucy. 

Dennis paused for a long, long moment. "D'you...will you dance with me, then?" 

In response, Lucy only grinned wider.   
  
  


From the other side of the path, beyond the bushes, there was a _Snap!___

A slowly-developing picture floated to the ground to rest right on the edge of the dirt path. It showed a slowly-swaying couple dancing under the Christmas stars, wind blowing softly through the trees behind them. At the bottom of the photo was a note in black ink, which read: 

"_Good job, little brother. I told you you could do it._"   
  


THE END 


End file.
